


The Hardest Thing and The Right Thing.

by MamaCake



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry, Love, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaCake/pseuds/MamaCake
Summary: **spoilers for MTMTE vol.4/issues 15 and 16 I think**Drift is struggling to deal with keeping secrets from Ratchet, but it's for the best, at least that's what he tells himself. Finally he's found a minuscule of comfort and happiness, but he's terrified it's not going to last.





	The Hardest Thing and The Right Thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to spoil too much in the summary in case there's some who have only just started reading MTMTE (I haven't read Lost Light yet myself so please no spoilers for that in the comments, although I think I know some of what happens.)
> 
> So this is what happens when Drift is exiled, after Overlord causes chaos, and how he and Ratchet deal with it.
> 
> It really broke my heart to write, so just in advance I'm sorry for any kind of emotional distress on my behalf! 🙈

The habsuite was quiet, apart from the shuffles of Ratchet wriggling in the berth, but even those usually comforting noises and the frame pressed against him couldn't help Drift's processor switch off. He felt weary, not only physically but emotionally too, the guilt and the weight of carrying secrets pressing heavily on him, especially hiding them from someone he didn't want to. He knew he needed to though, to protect him.

He flicked his optics over to where in the gloom Ratchet rolled towards him, and he managed a small smile through the dark emotions. He wanted to make the most of this moment and carefully he committed it to his memory, the heaviness of a hand that had sleepily found his chest and the warmth in his spark as he looked at the sleeping mech who was fast becoming something special to him. In tough moments, he would relive this, and he hoped it would give him strength.

Since Drift's bold move to ask Ratchet on a date, the couple had snatched whatever moments they could together. Drift would visit the medbay for the smallest of scratches and when First Aid or Ambulon were busy with other patients, he'd throw himself at Ratchet. The medic would kiss him back before giving him a crotchety look for disturbing him at work, then sent him on his way with promises of _later_ . And then there were the moments where Drift was in discussion with Rodimus, or even worse, Ultra Magnus, and he'd have to hide the expression on his faceplate when he received a message detailing exactly what _later_ was going to entail.

There were tears threatening to fall as he thought about these moments of happiness that he'd plucked from everyday life aboard the Lost Light, because he knew it wouldn't last, it couldn't last. His life had always been tumultuous and he was sure he brought it upon himself, but this, whatever this was with Ratchet, he desperately wanted to keep at whatever cost.

Rolling over to face the slumbering mech, he pushed down the burning guilt and sadness to watch him recharge, his faceplate illuminated by Drift's optics. Even when he was offline he still had a slightly furrowed brow and Drift laughed slightly, reaching over to brush it lightly with his digits as if he were trying to smooth away the lines. Dimmed optics flickered open before they closed again, and Ratchet ex-vented tiredly. This was the second time in the past week he'd awoken to find his berth mate awake.

“Don’t watch me recharge, that's weird.”

Drift smiled and spoke quietly, “but when you do it, it's looking after your patients right?”

A hand on his back strut gently pulled him closer, until they were resting their helms together. Drift's optics were still open, staring behind Ratchet into the nothingness of the dark habsuite, hoping that he'd dodged any questions, but the medic blinked his own optics online again and rubbed his hand lightly down his back strut, hoping to soothe whatever was keeping his beloved awake.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hm?”

“Whatever it is that's keeping you up.”

“Oh. No, it's just the usual.”

He really hated to lie, but he was so used to it he barely felt the brush of shame over his spark. Instead, he nuzzled underneath Ratchet's jaw, brushing gentle kisses against the cables there and he felt the murmur of appreciation from his vocaliser rumble against him. The hand stroking his back strut slipped down to grab his hip instead, pulling him closer, but there wasn't the normal urgency and passion there.

“And as usual, you use this to distract me from asking any more.”

Drift stopped abruptly. This time he felt the shame twist his tanks and he ex-vented hard. He was right, and he'd seen right through him so he pulled away reluctantly.

“I've never talked… it doesn't help.”

“But still, you don't need to frag me into silence.”

The white mech laughed lightly, and affection for him warmed Ratchet's spark. Deciding he was too tired for anything more than just cuddling, he scooped Drift into an embrace, pressing his helm to his chest hoping the thrumming of his spark might help console him. With gentle strokes, he brushed his finials and offlined his optics again, his fatigue an unrelenting wave trying to pull him back under.

“You need to rest. Can't have Rodimus blaming me for you being tired when it's not even my fault.”

Drift listened carefully to his spark for a while, until he was sure Ratchet was recharging again, but oblivion refused to grace him, so he reluctantly wriggled free of the embrace he enjoyed so much and decided maybe his thoughts would be better if he got them out somehow. As he lifted himself from Ratchet's berth, his optics settled on the weapons he'd left in the corner by the entrance, and it gave him an idea. With one last lingering look, he slipped from the hab suite.

* * *

 

Drift knew it would end this way. Sooner or later, he'd be the villain again, maybe that's all he was good at being. As he limped away bruised and broken from the angry crowd, inside and out, he dropped his helm onto his chest. He just needed to go, he could fix himself later, but he couldn't face them anymore in case anger decided to rear its ugly head. He wanted to be angry at them, but he was angry at himself, angry at the situation only he'd put himself in. He staggered, dropping to one knee and winced with the pain. 

A red hand was held outstretched in front of him. As he lifted his optics, his spark squeezed tightly in his chest. He wasn't expecting any kind gestures, especially not from the one in front of him, he was even hoping for unkind words and aggression because it would be easier to go. Easier to leave him.

Ratchet helped Drift to stand, optics roaming over his battered frame and he ex-vented, faceplate falling in sadness. Wordlessly, he supported him towards where the shuttle was waiting and tried to decide what he could say, or do to make this whole mess of a situation better. Instead he defaulted onto self blame and tender admonishment.

“You knew," There was disappointment in his vocals, “and you didn't tell me. I could have helped.”

Drift shook his helm and winced, “I wasn't dragging you into this.”

“Do you have to be so stubborn?”

When they reached the shuttle bay, Ratchet made him rest against a wall, so he could examine the worst of his injuries, but Drift pulled away angrily. He deserved it, and it deserved to hurt.

“Don't. It's hard enough to leave.”

“I'm coming,” Ratchet raised an optic ridge, “there's no _leaving_.”

“Don't be stupid.” He snapped.

“I'm not letting you go alone, where will you go? What will you do?”

“I don't know, and I can feel your apprehension, I'm not about to go back to _that_. I don't need my hand holding, Ratchet.”

The medic ex-vented as he treated his patient, knowing they didn't have long until one of the others made sure he was gone, but he couldn't let him leave without doing his job, and he'd argue that with the whole crew if he had to. He didn't want it to end this way, he didn't want the best thing he'd had in a long time to limp out of his life, broken. He wanted to fix him, he _needed_ to fix him.

Drift hissed through his denta as Ratchet studied one of his more painful injuries, and closed his optics tightly, against the kind and sympathetic expression he didn't deserve.

He spoke gently, “I know you don't _need_ your hand held, but maybe I _want_ to hold it. I don't want you to be alone.”

They both knew he meant he didn't want to be alone either. Even though Drift was the one about to be exiled, Ratchet was the one who still managed to feel alone amongst a ship full of others. He'd finally managed to find someone who made him feel like if he vanished, he'd come searching for him, not because he needed something fixing, but because he wanted his company.

Ratchet fought down the lump in his intake as he touched the frame in front of him as a medic, not as a lover. He thought back to the last night they'd shared a berth but that made him feel even worse.

“I'll be fine. I'll… find something worthwhile to do, but listen, you stubborn, old mech, I need you to stay, I'll beg you to stay. I know you're not going to like this, but I want you to do something for me. Please look out for Rodimus. I know you clash, but he's one of the better friends I've ever had, and he needs someone to make sure he doesn't get himself in serious trouble.”

Ratchet huffed, “I'm not filling in for you, I'm not going to yap at his heels like a pup telling him he's doing a great job. He's not, by the way.”

Drift couldn't help but grin a little.

“I don't care, tell him how you feel, you usually do, but just don't let him do something stupid.”

“More stupid than leading a ship load of bots and following an old made up story into peril and probably death? Sure.”

He was glad he was being himself, Drift wouldn't have been able to stand any teary goodbyes.

Finally done with treating him, Ratchet hesitantly pulled his hands away and crouched down to close the bag he'd brought with him. Drift pulled himself from the wall unsteadily, touching his tender faceplate whilst he tried to tell himself it was the right thing to do. As much as he wanted to steal the medic away with him, he couldn't. They all needed him more.

“Someone else could look after Rodimus, let's face it, Magnus was, _is_ , a glorified babysitter for the whole crew.”

Drift's optics sparkled, “you included?”

“And First Aid could handle whatever was thrown at him, he's going to be CMO, someday.”

“When you finally let him, or when you rust away to nothing?”

“Besides,” Ratchet stood and shrugged, “no one would miss me.”

Unable to stand it anymore, Drift closed the small gap between them and kissed him hard, a hand grasped possessively around the back of his helm, optics closed tightly just in case they betrayed him and leaked. Ratchet grabbed him fervidly, hands digging into his hips as he returned the kiss, finally resigned to the fact if someone did see them, he wouldn't care.  

Sooner than they both would have liked, Drift pulled away keeping a hand on Ratchet's faceplate, so he would have to look into his optics as he spoke carefully. He wanted him to take what he was about to say seriously.

“There's no one else I trust to look after Rodimus except you, you won't abandon your patients when they need you and… I will miss you. Every cycle that passes, I will miss you.”

“I just…”

“Ratchet,” Drift tilted his helm, “you can't help everyone. You can't fix everyone, no matter how hard you try. I'll be fine and I'll see you again one day, I promise.”

To try and stop the burning at the back of his optics, Ratchet turned away to rub his arm across them and laughed slightly. He needed to make light of this lousy situation.

“And I always believe what a Decepticon promises me.”

“Oh, I see.” Drift grinned, “if that's what we're going with as we say goodbye, then I can't believe I'm trusting an Autobot with my only friend.”

Roughly, Ratchet swung the bag up into Drift's chest, avoiding his optics and he staggered back slightly with the weight of it.

“Take this, in case you hurt yourself. You won't have the best medic in the galaxy to fix yourself up this time.”

Drift tried to shut out the memory of sneaking into the medbay for kisses over a dented elbow. He couldn't think of that, he wouldn't leave. Instead he nodded as a thanks, and turned to where his shuttle awaited him, knowing their time was over. With one last brief kiss, he swung the bag over his shoulder and left, with no glances back.

As the shuttle door closed on the white mech, Ratchet turned away. There was no point waiting for the inevitable. He had patients to treat and a medbay to tidy. He ex-vented and set his mind back to the thing he was made for.

* * *

Ratchet was sat at his desk, pretending to read the memo Rodimus had sent. He was barely registering the words, his optics skipping along as he wallowed in grief for everything they'd all lost in the past few days. He wanted to feel angry at Drift for putting them all in danger, but every time he imagined the mech beaten and dented for his crimes, and the haunted look in his optics, the flames of anger burnt out to nothing.  

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie, but before he could even huff in irritation, the door was already open and Whirl was bursting in. He spied the medic at his desk and narrowed his optic mischievously, pattering his way over to the desk. Ratchet didn't miss the expression on his face and started to launch into a tirade, but he quickly burnt himself out, he didn't have it in him.

“Whirl, what have I said about letting yourself in? And whatever explicit part of you you want me to… oh forget it. Just get it over and done with.”

With a tilt of his helm, the ex-wrecker came forward and nudged the empty energon cubes gathering on the medic's desk as usual, and laughed lightly.

“That's not what I'm here for, doc.”

“Well, you're not sick or injured, because even Death itself is hesitant to come near you in case you pull a gun on it, so what do you want?”

There was a short moment where the only noise was Whirl knocking his clawed hand against a cube to make a _ting ting_ sound, he just had to be irritating somehow, and Ratchet was about to lose his thin patience and shout when the dark mech surprised him.

“Sucks. Y'know, to be you. Your little frag buddy gone like that. I'm not gonna offer to warm your berth at night but, I was just passing on my way to graffiti Magnus’ office and I thought, well, maybe you could pick what curse I'm gonna scrawl right across his desk in luminous yellow, you know as a get well soon present to him.”

Ratchet put down his datapad carefully, optics wide at the weird version of comfort Whirl was obviously trying to give. He didn’t expect anyone to come and comfort him, even Rodimus, who in his own way cared for Drift and must be mourning his departure too, had only sent him a brief and unusually formal memo to enquire about the patient's welfare from the attack, but here the ex-wrecker was. Maybe it wasn't the way compassion usually worked, but he was kind of touched all the same.

Whirl shifted, uncomfortable with trying to be nice, and folded his arms as best as he could. He didn't know exactly what had compelled him to try and make the cantankerous doctor feel better, maybe it was the sight of Chromedome pining for his lost conjunx, or the way Cyclonus had managed to comfort Tailgate briefly and distantly, but even he didn't enjoy anguish like this. He was terrible at hugs and even worse at kind and heartfelt words, but what he was good at, was mischief, and everyone had to laugh every time they heard the second in command roaring over what _despicable, disrespectful_ individual had invaded his space yet again. At least, if he ever got to say it again. He tried not to look back over his shoulder where he knew Ultra Magnus was laying in a berth. 

He added with a shrug, “Just thought it might cheer you up, you miserable old fragger.”

The words made the medic laugh more than Whirl expected. The memory of Drift calling him old all the time, and fragger whenever he sent him inappropriate messages when he was working gave Ratchet something else to feel other than the darkness that had descended over him. He picked up his datapad again, a grin still pulling on his features. He couldn't help but imagine Drift over his shoulder smirking all the way up to his optics as he cursed Whirl.

“I'm sure _when_ Magnus pulls through, he'll kick your aft for it," he flicked his gaze over, “jerk.”

“Well, that's all you'll be doing these days,” Whirl snickered, “and I was hoping for something more witty from you doc, but fine, jerk it is!”

The other mech made his way out still giggling, and Ratchet ex-vented with a shake of his helm. At least he could think about those good times they'd shared. He hoped wherever Drift was, the good memories and small moments they shared were making sure he wasn't lonely too, and if he was, there was always a bottle of his favourite engex in the supplies he'd given him to chase it away.

Mindlessly he went to open his top drawer, searching for the box of energon goodies that Drift had left there for him and his digits brushed something cold. With a frown, he placed his datapad down again and scooted  his chair over to look at what he'd touched. Tentatively, he lifted the sheathed knife he didn't recognise and then saw the note underneath it, his frown deepening. Testing the weight of the weapon in his hand with the other he read the handwritten note carefully.

_‘One more knife can't hurt right? Especially if I'm not there to protect you._

_I'm sorry for not being truthful, but you already know I wasn't. I can't sleep because all of the secrets I hold are tearing me apart, because I'm keeping them from you. So this is me saying I'm sorry, and if I ever give this to you, it's because my secrets are out and I'm not around to apologise._

_Whatever happens, I'll wait for you, here or in the Afterspark, if an old sceptic like you even believes.’_

Ratchet kidded himself that the liquid running down his face was from staring at the note for too long. He read and re-read the words over and over until the tidy script of Drift's words started to blur, and then he carefully put the note back into his drawer, to be read every time he missed him deeply.

He turned his attention to the blade with a sad smile, and decided he'd keep this one on him even though he didn't like being armed all the time. This one was a reminder, to help him look over his shoulder, because the mech that usually had that covered for him was gone, but definitely not forgotten.


End file.
